Home improvements...

and self exploration.

Mariah Bonner

Nov 08, 2024

San Martín, Calchaquí Valley, Argentina

November 8^th, 2024

“The idea was to explore more of the ranch. But we’ve ended up exploring more of ourselves.”

- Bill Bonner

Flower pots sit on the wall at San Martín.

Dear Reader,

I’ve just finished reading a compilation of my dad’s writings about Gualfín, San Martín, and the Calchaquies Valley. He’s working on a coffee table book, and I’ll be helping with the photos!

My dad has written a lot about being on a remote ranch in Northwestern Argentina, far from traffic, coffee dates, meetings, grocery shopping, dinner parties, and the general busyness of life in a city…he talks about why he came down here, and why he’s continued to invest in this place over the years…

It’s been eye opening to me, as I’ve often asked myself what we are doing down here. And why my dad even wanted to come here in the first place.

I think he was seeking the precious commodity of uninterrupted time. Time to think, to meditate, to write, to read, and even to be bored. Many people go through their whole lives without ever getting that chance.

Gualfín…

San Martín is quiet, set apart from the rest of the farm because of the river. But around 3.30am, we heard the whir of a tractor coming up the drive.

Ramona popped her head up, and, believing that something or someone unwelcome was coming, darted out the screen door, barking vigorously.

“Who goes there?”, she yelped.

Wearily, I pulled myself out of bed.

“Ramona!”, I called. “It’s only the tractors. Come back in!”.

After a moment, she returned and jumped back on her bed. In the morning, I found her nestled around my legs with her head on my kneecap.

“They start early Señora”, Inés explained. “Because the grass is still humid then. It makes it easier to pack the bales tight later on.”

Sure enough the balers came out in the afternoon, and made big round bales. These then sit in the hot sun to dry.

Christian on the tractor carrying the dried bales of hay.

Adrien had gone up to Gualfín to check on the planting of the new vines, while I stayed alone at San Martín to greet the carpenters who were coming to install new furniture I’d commissioned.

“Look after Mistress”, he instructed Ramona. She took her job very seriously. And when the carpenters showed up, she rushed out to warn them.

“This is my house”, she barked, “and I am Mistresses guardian!”.

Soon enough she judged the men harmless. She jumped up on their legs, rolled over so they could pet her belly and followed them around as they assembled the furniture.

The carpenters arrive.

Zulma, the woman who runs the catechism program, sent me a text.

“The children will be gathering in the church at 6 o’clock on Wednesday to celebrate the end of the catechism. Please join us and bring something to share!”.

“Thank you!”, I wrote back. “I’ll be there.”.

My father-in-law had sent some candy corn with us when we came back in October, so I brought that along as a novel treat.

When I arrived, the children were already gathered at a table on the patio in front of the church. A few of the mothers were also there. Chips, bags of cookies, homemade empanadas, candy, and the customary bottles of gaseosa – soda – were set out on the table.

“First, we’ll pray.”, said Zulma. She bid us to enter the church and we took our seats.

“Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of your womb Jesus. Holy Mary Mother of God pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

This prayer was repeated three times. Then we crossed ourselves and went to the table.

“Comen, chicos”, said Zulma, passing around a plate of pizza. Eat, Children.

The kids ate and ate till every last crumb was gone.

“Ah, los chicos.”, Zulma sighed. “They grow up so quickly.”.

“Next year, we’ll do this again”, she said, more cheerfully. “There’ll be more confirmations and first communions to look forward to!”.

“Gracias, Doña Zulma”, said a chubby girl who’d been confirmed on Sunday. “May we go now?”.

“Yes, yes”, said Zulma. “It’s time. Let’s all clean up.”

We carried the chairs back in to the church, stacked the dirty plates, and folded up the colorful tablecloth with the words “Feliz Navidad” – Merry Christmas – written on it.

“Before you leave, Señora, we’d like to come to your house for a goodbye tea.”, said Zulma, smiling.

“Of course”, I replied.

She gave me a kiss on the cheek and patted my arm in a kindly way. The children came up to me one by one. They turned up their cheeks, and I planted a kiss on each one.